


Pulse

by redex_writes



Category: A Way Out (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, M/M, Miscommunication, Nightmares, One Shot, Panic Attacks, Probably ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29037864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redex_writes/pseuds/redex_writes
Summary: Purely self-indulgent hurt/comfort. More specific warnings in Author's Note.
Relationships: Leo Caruso/Vincent Moretti
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	Pulse

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:  
> \- Brief mention of blood  
> \- Panic attacks  
> \- References to death

Vincent wasn’t a touchy person. Even as their relationship progressed from “reluctant allies” to “friends” to “something more,” casual affection wasn’t something he doled out in droves. Leo didn’t mind; he could read Vincent easily by then, he knew that he wasn’t being shut out when Vincent didn’t hold his hand, or slept with his back turned to him. He showed his feelings in other ways, and Leo wouldn’t trade it for the world.

It wasn’t a switch that flipped; the change was so gradual that Leo didn’t notice until a long time later. A hand on his lower back when they squeezed past each other in the kitchen or hallway; little bumps of shoulders or elbows when they joked around; fingers idly tracing over Leo’s upturned palm as they lay in bed together. Little touches, little gestures. Little changes that Leo absorbed without notice.

Then, the nightmares.

He hadn’t had them on the run--or, if he had, Leo hadn’t known about them. He slept pretty light anyways--habits from his past--so the first night that Vincent started shifting in bed and muttering, Leo was awake and sitting up as soon as he opened his eyes.

It’d taken him a minute to realize that Vincent wasn’t awake. He slept like a rock and never made a sound, so it wasn’t until the muttering turned frantic and the shifting turned to thrashing that Leo put the pieces together.

“Hey, Vincent,” he murmured, gently shaking Vincent’s shoulder. Another thrash shook his hand off, but he gripped tighter and shaked him again. “Vince, wake up.”

Vincent shot up with a gasp, hands flying to his abdomen. Leo thought for a second he was going to be sick, but he just pressed his hands to his stomach as if there was something there. His eyes were wild when they shot to Leo, who was confused and more than a little concerned at this point.

“Vince?” he said tentatively.

Vincent shook his head, pressing his hands harder and breathing heavily, unevenly.

At a loss for what to do Leo grabbed Vincent’s wrists, only to have the wind knocked out of them when Vincent’s hands slammed into his stomach instead. He looked down to where Vincent’s palms were pressing into his torso through his shirt, then back up to his face. His lips were slightly parted as he seemed to struggle for air, and his eyes were wild, as if he were still in the dream. 

“Okay,” Leo said softly, trying to keep his voice level. He shifted his weight, gently shushing Vincent when he made a noise and pressed down harder. He rested one hand over Vincent’s on his stomach, reaching over with the other to flick on the lamp.

The realization that Vincent’s eyes were glossy with tears was shocking, but he kept his composure. Still moving slowly, as if trying not to frighten a wounded animal, Leo gently took hold of Vincent’s hands and held them in both of his own. 

Vincent shook as he came down, his breathing evening out into a more normal rhythm. He took a few deep breaths before shuddering once, like a leaf, and making another quiet noise as the tears overflowed.

Leo was quick to scoot back against the headboard and gather Vincent up in his arms, pulling him back against his chest. He was shaking against him, pressing his face in the crook of Leo’s neck to hide his moment of weakness. Leo felt his shirt growing damp as his tears leaked through, but when Vincent made a frustrated sound and tried to jerk away, he tightened his arms around him and pulled him close again.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, “it’s alright. I’ve got you, Vince.”

Little by little, Vincent began to relax, the stiffness melting out of him until he was practically boneless against Leo. They stayed like that for the rest of the night--at least, until Leo opened his eyes to the morning sun through the thin curtains, and an empty bed beside him.

The little touches went away; it was only then that Leo noticed they were there at all. He tried a few times to take Vincent’s hand when they were sitting together on the couch, or wrap his arms around him from behind while he got ready for bed, only to be met with a subtle but firm rejection when Vincent pulled away, made an excuse to leave the room. 

That went on for a few days, before Leo had had enough. He went to their bedroom that night, ready to demand an answer for Vincent’s distance, only to find that he had already dozed off. Leo looked at him for a moment, fondness warming his chest, before sighing and turning off the lamp.

He woke up to the same thing as before--quiet mumbling, shuffling beside him. He barely had time to rub the sleep from his eyes this time before the thrashing started.

“Vincent,” he said once, softly. Nothing. He tried again, louder this time.

“Vincent!”

Eyes flying open. Sitting up so fast, Leo nearly got a forehead to the nose. Hands pressing against his own stomach first, fingers clutching, a very specific position that nagged at something in the back of Leo’s mind.

Remembering last time, Leo reached for Vincent’s hands. Vincent’s head shot up, but Leo was already holding his wrists gently, guiding them to his own stomach. He wasn’t sure what it meant, or even if it would work; but after a few seconds, Vincent took a wavering breath. He curled in on himself, letting up the pressure on Leo’s stomach but keeping his hands there as he hung his head and hunched his shoulders forward.

Leo turned on the light and wrapped his arms around Vincent, pulling him to lay down. Vincent’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut, face half-hidden in the pillow, but tear tracks shone in the lamplight even so. He flinched when Leo reached up to brush his knuckles against his cheek, trying to turn his face deeper into the pillow.

“You’re gonna suffocate like that,” Leo murmured. Vincent gave a shaky, broken laugh, but he didn’t protest as Leo kissed the top of his head. When his breathing turned steady, Leo looked down to see him fast asleep, mouth hanging open, one arm draped loosely over Leo’s stomach.

Confused, worried and sad, Leo flicked off the lamp and tried to get some sleep himself.

He could tell that Vincent was trying to avoid him again the next morning, but Leo wasn’t having it. He grabbed Vincent’s arm as he tried to slip out of the kitchen, holding firm even as Vincent nearly tripped backwards over his own feet. He ignored the annoyed glare and cut Vincent off before he could say anything.

“We need to talk.”

“So...it’s always the same?”

Vincent lifted one shoulder, looking off to the side uncomfortably.

“Not always,” he said. “I mean, it’s not like I don’t dream otherwise. But that specific one is...it’s always that.”

“Always the roof?”

Vincent grimaced and nodded.

“And it’s raining?”

Another nod.

“And it’s always in the same--”

“Yes, Leo, it’s always in the same place,” Vincent snapped. He looked up then, looking annoyed as he grabbed Leo’s hands and shoved them against his stomach. “Always here.”

Leo looked down at his hands pressed against his middle. He imagined that night--the rain, the sirens, the roof--and imagined blood seeping from under his fingers, staining the front of his shirt.

He looked up at Vincent, feeling a bit sick. 

“Jesus.”

Vincent snorted. “You’re telling me.”

They sat in silence for a while; Leo with one leg folded under him on the couch, Vincent stiff beside him.

“And it’s always me that dies,” Leo murmured.

Vincent flinched, visibly cringing away from Leo.

“Yes.”

Leo made a thoughtful sound. Then, in the same slow movements he used when Vincent woke from his nightmares, he sat up on his knees and swung one leg over Vincent’s hips, sitting comfortably on his lap. Vincent looked up, eyebrows raised slightly.

Leo took his hands, holding them gently. His thumbs ran in soothing circles over Vincent’s knuckles as he lifted them, once again holding them to his stomach.

Vincent’s brow creased, and he pursed his lips. “Leo--”

Leo hushed him softly, gently. He slowly moved Vincent’s hands up until they were brushing Leo’s chest, over his heart. He pulled them against him, pressing close enough that Vincent would be able to feel his heart beating.

“I’m here,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Vincent looked down at their hands, then up at Leo. The look on his face was one he couldn’t name--soft and awed and broken all at the same time-- _reverent_. He swallowed once, adam’s apple bobbing, before pulling at Leo’s hands and craning his neck. Getting the picture, Leo leaned down and kissed him softly, sweetly.

Their lips moved together, and Leo realized how much he’d missed this in the last few days. Vincent kissed him slow, steadying him, balancing him out; he grounded Leo when he shot too high, lifted him when he felt tied down, cooled him when he burned. With a quiet noise that felt more like a sob, Leo pressed into the kiss, bringing his hands up to frame Vincent’s face.

They broke for air but didn’t go far; Leo resting his forehead against Vincent’s, their noses brushing and breaths soft over each others’ lips. Vincent’s arms looped around Leo’s waist, and Leo squeezed his face slightly, pressing a soft kiss over his brow.

“I’m sorry,” Vincent murmured.

Leo pulled back, brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

Vincent pursed his lips, looking away.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he said quietly. “For pulling away. I know I shouldn’t have kept it from you, it’s just…”

He broke off for an unsteady breath.

“It feels...wrong. Like I shouldn’t be...like this. I feel small, almost, like I’m--I’m--”

“Weak?” Leo guessed in a soft voice. Vincent grimaced. 

“Yeah.”

Leo hummed. He stroked his thumbs over Vincent’s cheekbones, quiet for a second.

“Well,” he said after a bit, “I don’t know how you see it, but I’ve seen you do some pretty strong shit.”

Vincent snorted, but Leo shook his head and made him look him in the eye.

“I’m serious,” he said. “Vincent Moretti, you are a lot of things--stubborn, uptight, a pain in my ass--”

Vincent laughed, and Leo grinned.

“But you are anything but weak.”

The look in Vincent’s eyes was enough to nearly melt Leo on the spot. He smiled, shook his head once--twice--then cupped the back of Leo’s neck and pulled him down until their lips were barely an inch apart.

“I love you.”

Leo’s breath hitched. He fought the stupid grin that threatened to come out, opting instead to place a gentle kiss on the corner of Vincent’s mouth.

“I love you, too.”

The nightmares didn’t come every night. They were unpredictable. They shook Vincent to his core, left him shaky and fragile, unable to catch his breath or string together a sentence.

But for every one of them, Leo was there. He was there to turn on the light; to whisper assurances to him; to hold him close, arms firm, body warm against his. 

And every time, he would carefully lift Vincent’s hands from his own stomach, up to the front of his chest, so he could feel Leo’s heart beating steadily against his palms. Every time, when he came down enough to settle back against Leo, he would lay his head on his chest and hear the thrum of his heartbeat, counting silently until his eyes closed and he drifted off, soothed by Leo’s beating heart and soft words:

“Sleep now, Vince.”

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I love you.”


End file.
